


Apocalypse Now

by FollyOfWinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dean is a God, Demon Dean, Explicit Language, Fluff and Smut, Flying, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Incubus Dean, Kissing, M/M, Massage, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-04 08:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4130787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FollyOfWinchester/pseuds/FollyOfWinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel raises Dean from hell after his transformation to a demon is complete, turning him into an all-powerful creature of legend. Has he effectively doomed all of creation to destruction or will Dean use his newfound powers to stop the apocalypse?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act I - Creation

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired to finally write this down by a low budget Ren'Py game called "Seduce Me the Otome" on Steam.

As soon as he reunites the righteous man’s mangled soul with his desiccated corpse and begins knitting together the flesh and spirit, Castiel feels something is not right. 

Had he been too late? Dean Winchester’s soul had suffered in Hell for what must have felt like tens of years to a human mind. And he had made the choice to torture other souls, breaking the first of the 66 seals that kept Lucifer imprisoned within his cage, but they had arrived in time. They must have. The alternative is too blasphemous to consider.

As Castiel finishes his work restoring the last few details, an unshaven jaw line, a scattering of freckles, a few more eyelashes, a sudden burst of fiery energy surprises him. The righteous man’s shoulder bursts into flame just as the last sprig of stubble is in place, leaving a charred handprint where Castiel had held him as he dragged his wretched soul from eternal torment.

This is not good. This is not good at all. He _was_ too late. Castiel has to find a way to fix this, or Heaven’s only hope for salvation is lost.

~*~

The smell of burning decay and rotting meat, the sound of wanton screams and guttural laughter, the taste of ash and blood, and the pain, always the pain. Without warning, it all disappears. Dean’s eyes pop open to pitch blackness. He lies still for a moment. Where is the whip he was just holding? Why is he wearing clothes? He was about to break that stupid bitch even though he’d only tortured her for an hour or two, tops. A new record! Alistair would have been proud, would have rewarded him. He shivers and mewls at the thought, only to frown again as his fingers search fruitlessly for his whip and his skin tingles in frustration underneath the unnecessary layers of fabric. Where is he now?

He drags his hands over the wooden walls around him and kicks his feet to find the extent of his environment. Only enough space for him and nothing else. Is this a prison? Is he being punished? But Alistair had said he was so close to perfection! What that meant, Dean isn’t sure, but it had not sounded like something that deserved punishment. And even if he was being punished, the air in Hell is inescapable and thick with the diseased miasma from the constant suffering of billions upon billions of human souls. This place smells like…practically nothing. Perhaps a hint of decay, maybe some fermenting soil, but nothing more. It smells almost like…Earth.

As Dean sifts through his memories of being alive, the hypothesis that he might not be in Hell seems more and more plausible. This could be a coffin. His coffin. Is he where he had been buried so long ago after dying to hellhounds? The memories are so faint he had almost stopped believing there had been anything before his time in Hell, that perhaps the memories had been planted by Alistair as a form of brutal mental training. Are his memories real? Had he once been human? Is he still human? Dean needs answers. Perhaps, if his memories _are_ real, his brother Sam might still be alive. Maybe it was Sam who had dragged him away from the rack into this wooden box. As he thinks about Sam, an image forms in his head, like looking into a window. He sees the Sam from his memories standing in front of a mirror splashing water on his face. He suddenly feels energy running through his body and senses that he could step through the window if he wanted. He lets the energy sweep over him like a wave pushing a boat out to sea and finds himself blinded by bright light as he washes up in a new location.

~*~

Castiel wails in horror as he watches the righteous man, if he could truly be called such anymore, explore his coffin before translocating himself away. His face! The transformation process had been complete when Castiel had dredged his soul from Hell! How had he not seen it?! What he had brought back was no longer human. Castiel has to speak with him before the forces of Hell became aware of what has happened, but how? Some humans could comprehend his true voice, but surely no demonic entity could withstand it. He has to find a vessel, and fast.

Abomination or no, Dean Winchester is the only creature in God’s creation who could stop the apocalypse.


	2. Act II - Discovery

As Dean gets up and dusts himself off, he finds himself face to face with the most disgusting broad he’s ever seen, “Who the fuck are you? And what is wrong with your nasty face?”

“Speak for yourself, Dean. We all look like this.” She points at his face, “You, too…now. Wow, somebody downstairs must have really done a number on you.” 

“What do you mean? How do you know my name, bitch?”

“What, you don’t recognize me? You wound me.” She drapes the back of her hand melodramatically across her forehead and then points at the writhing darkness that forms her repulsive facial features. “It’s Ruby. We sort of half-assed worked together for a while, remember? I know it probably seems like a couple decades ago, but it was actually only about four months ago up here. Back before you— Wait, do you not realize…” She starts to slowly walk around him a short distance away, “Sam, you better get out here! Your brother’s back and he’s got a secret to tell you!”

Sam opens the door to the bathroom and pokes his head out, “Sorry, I thought I heard you say my brother’s back— Holy crap!” Sam pulls the pistol out of the back of his pants and points it deftly in Dean’s direction. “Dean?! Who are you!? What are you!? Ruby?! What?!”

Even with a gun in his face, seeing his brother alive and well and just how he remembers him warms Dean's heart. He resolves to go in for the obligatory Winchester hug as soon as he won't be shot for it.

“Go ahead, Dean. Tell him. You feel a little different than you did back when you were alive, dontcha!” Ruby and Sam both look at him expectantly.

Dean sneers at her, but she’s right. Not only that, since he opened his eyes in that coffin he feels different than when he was in the pit. He can feel energy tingling under his skin, pumping through his veins. He feels powerful. Even earlier today when he was mercilessly lashing that pathetic soul, his mind was consumed with the ache of unquenchable thirst, unending hunger. Now, eating sounds like a pleasurable activity, but he has the feeling that he doesn’t need to do it to live like when he was alive. “Yeah, I feel awesome!” He rubs his fingers along all his now smooth skin that should be coated in scars, like his forearms from all the times he and Sam cut themselves with silver to prove they weren’t monsters. “And all my scars are gone! I feel better than awesome! I feel like I could go on a month long boozing spree and never get a hangover! I feel like I could fuck someone into the mattress for 24 hours straight and never stop for a break!”

Ruby smiles, “Welcome to demonhood!” 

Sam stares open-mouthed at Dean and the pistol visibly shakes in his hands, “Dean’s a demon?! But how? Could it be a spell? What do we do? How does he look like himself? Shouldn’t he be, I dunno, possessing someone else?”

Ruby motions for Sam to chill out and he slowly lowers the gun. “I don’t know, I really don’t know.” Ruby puts her hand on her chin and rubs thoughtfully. “Yeah, actually, now that you mention it, something’s weird here. By the time I turned, my human body was a pile of muck and bones. What gives? How’d you get yours back?”

Dean shrugs and smiles. He feels energized, excited, free. “Musta been all that clean living!”

“How are you both so relaxed about this!?” Sam drags his palm down his face and lets out a long suffering sigh.

Dean points an accusatory finger in Sam’s direction. “Hey, look who’s talking! You’re the one shacked up with this demon bitch for God knows what stupid reasons!”

“Well, at least I’m not _actually_ a demon!” Sam clenches his fists and cocks them into position, ready for a fight.

Dean feels the energy pulsing through his body revving up. It feels amazing. He feels amazing. He feels unstoppable. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it!”

“Boys, boys, let’s focus here. First of all, I want to know how Dean kept his body. Maybe we should run through a couple…call them tests, so we can figure all this out. First of all, Dean just appeared here, so he’s no pushover. Most newly minted demons can’t just pop in to say hi like that. How about…try knocking over that lamp without touching it.” Ruby motions to a lamp next to the bed.

“Alright, that doesn’t sound too hard. Just gotta Darth Vader that shit.” He raises his arm into the air and then theatrically curls his hand into a fist like he’s breaking Luke Skywalker’s neck. The lamp wobbles a little and then falls over. Dean jumps into the air and pumps his fist in excitement, “Holy shit, did you see that! Fucking sweet!”

Ruby gives him a golf clap, “Alright, good. That was only _mostly_ pathetic. So, telekinesis. Check. That narrows it from most of the lower rank demons.” She thinks for a moment as Dean attempts to lift other objects around the room with varying success. “Okay, I’ve got it. Try smoking out. You can get right back in, so don’t worry.”

Dean drops the bible he was making flap like a bird around the room. “Uh, how?”

“Just try thinking to yourself, ‘Up and out.’ And open your mouth. That always works for me. It should be pretty much instinctive.”

“Okay…uh…here goes?” Dean squeezes his eyes shut and opens his mouth. He opens his eyes and tries to open his mouth wider. Finally, he looks over at Ruby and shakes his head. “No dice. I don’t think I can.”

“Sam, can you help him out a little? Just so he can see how it feels?”

“Are you asking me to exorcise my own brother?” Sam crosses his arms.

“Well, just a teeny bit.” Ruby holds her fingers about a half inch apart to demonstrate.

Sam shakes his head and lets out another long suffering sigh. He says the first few words of Latin in the exorcism chant and Ruby tenses up and coughs, but Dean stands unaffected.

“Okay, now that really is weird. I guess someone really wanted you in your body, specifically. Maybe it’s a binding spell or a crossroads deal,” Ruby looks over at Sam, who shakes his head for no, “Well…let’s do a couple more tests before we jump to any conclusions. Okay, this is going to sound a little weird, but I promise it will make sense after the fact. I want you to give Sam here a stiffy.”

Dean and Sam both glare at Ruby in shock and bark in unison, “What?!”

“It’s fine, you can ‘Darth Vader’ it if you don’t want to touch him.”

The brothers groan and cover their eyes with their palms, once again in unison. Dean drops his hand to his side and whines like a little kid, “Do I have to?”

Ruby crosses her arms and taps her foot on the ground. “The sooner you try, the sooner we’re done here and you can get back to throwing inanimate objects around the room.”

Sam slowly scoots behind Ruby as if to shield himself from whatever is or is not about to happen. Dean groans again, but then considers the comedic potential of being able to pitch tents in other dudes’ pants with a thought and decides to give it the old college try, “Alright, here goes nothing.” He focuses the energy tingling under his skin into a rude gesture in Sam’s direction and is not disappointed. Sam yelps and moves his hands to cover himself before running into the bathroom. Dean hears a muffled “Not cool, dude!” from behind the door and laughs triumphantly, “Being a demon fucking rules!”

“Perfect, I knew it! You’re an incubus! I mean, it kinda makes sense, what with your human personality and Lilith being the one there when you died. She’s practically the queen of succubi. And that _could_ explain why you’re trapped in your body…but only if someone made a crossroads deal to get you back after you had already changed. Sam, are you sure you didn’t find some idiot demon to deal?”

Sam yells from the bathroom, “Yeah, I’m sure! No one would deal! I quit trying a few months ago!”

Ruby taps her chin with her finger, “Yeah, it must be some sort of binding spell…but just to be sure…well, go ahead and show me your eyes. It helps to get a little pissed off the first few times, just to get the feeling of it. Here.” She slaps him across the face.

Dean growls in frustration, “Was that really necessary? If I can see your beady black eyes right now, can’t you see mine?”

“Nope, all demons’ eyes look black when we’re just hanging around, sort of like a resting heart rate. Your eyes only turn some other color than black when you get fired up. Hopefully, your eyes are just black like the rest of us, though.”

“What do you mean, ‘hopefully’? Is there a ‘bad’ color for demon eyes.”

Ruby hesitates. “Um, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, if we get to it. Anyway, let’s see ‘em.” She slaps him again. 

“Goddamnit!” Dean grabs her arm in midair and his eyes flick to a deep, cloudy maroon. He tosses her against the nearest wall and stares her down. “There, you happy?!”

Ruby looks up at him and stiffens against the wall. “No way. No fucking way. I thought it was a legend. Oh fuck, Dean. No wonder you can’t smoke out.”

“What? What is it? What color are my eyes?” Dean walks closer to her and she skitters away along the wall. “Come on, I just learned I could give people boners. How bad could I be?” Dean looks over at the bathroom door and calls for Sam, “Hey, your girlfriend won’t tell me what color my eyes are. Come out here and— Gah!”

Ruby stabs Dean in the back between his shoulder blades. She then proceeds to mumble, clearly terrified, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…”

Dean tries to reach back and pull the blade out, but he can’t quite reach it, “That hurt! Man, Ruby, what gives!? Was that part of your tests? What happened to coaching me through life as a demon nice and easy?” He turns toward her only to discover that she’s gone.

Sam steps out of the bathroom and finds Dean spinning slowly around trying to grab the hilt of a knife in his back. “Where’s Ruby?”

“Dunno. She got all freaked out by the color of my eyes and then stabbed me, crazy bitch. Give me a hand, will ya?”

“Sure, as long as you promise not to use your pervy incubus powers on me anymore.” 

“Done, as long as you tell me what color my eyes are.”

Sam leans in and inspects Dean’s eyes, “Hm, they’re kind of a dark, swirly red.”

“Like a crossroads demon?” Dean points to the knife in his back to remind Sam.

“Nah, darker than that, and they kind of move like if you step in sand underwater.” Sam reaches over and pulls the knife out of Dean’s back, then drops it on the floor and stutters out, “D-d-dean, that was Ruby’s knife.”

“Yeah, no shit. She’s the one who stabbed me.”

“No, I mean _her_ knife. _The_ knife. The one that _kills_ demons!”

Dean and Sam both stare at the knife on the ground in disbelief. They look back up at each other and nod, “ _Bobby_.”

~*~

“But I don’t feel that powerful. I mean, I could barely knock over a lamp. And yeah, I teleported to Sam and I can get people all hot and bothered, but that doesn’t seem like something that a super mega arch-demon would be good at.”

They had explained the situation to Bobby over the phone, after his first two hang ups, a 10-minute lecture about practical jokes, a 15-minute lecture on not trusting demons, and another hang up before he settled down enough to hear what they were saying.

“Well, it says here that demons generally fear other demons of higher rank, but I feel like we already knew that.” Pages can be heard flipping over the phone. “Wait, what about this? ‘A cambion results from the coupling of an incubus and a human, and retains the demonic power of the father without the weaknesses of either the father or the mother.’”

“Pretty sure I became a demon, like, today. And I think we would have known about it if Dad was an incubus.”

“Alright, alright, boy. I’m trying here.” The heavy thud of a new book being opened and more pages flipping filter from the phone’s speaker. “Here’s something. ‘If an angel, not yet fallen from grace, uses God’s power to raise a corrupted soul from hell, the creature created will be neither demon, nor man, and will possess strength greater than all of Heaven’s armies.’ Sounds scary. What about that? Do you remember getting 'Touched by an Angel'?”

At that moment, a gust of wind rushes through the hotel room and someone else is suddenly standing in the room with Sam and Dean.

Bobby continues, “Wait, this next line might be important. ‘Should such a creature come into existence, nothing will end its reign of destruction in Heaven, in Hell, and in the world of men, and doom shall befall all of God’s creation.’”

An unassuming man in a rumpled trench coat and a tie stands a few feet away from them. Sam and Dean gape wide-eyed at the intruder. “Bobby, we’re gonna hafta call you back,” Bobby can be heard asking a string of frantic questions as Dean slowly lowers the phone and hits the end call button.

The third man in the room clears his throat, “Dean Winchester, come with me. I need your immediate and unquestioning cooperation in the service of Heaven.”

Just as suddenly as the intruder appeared, he’s gone, and Dean with him, leaving Sam standing confused, panicked, and completely alone.


	3. Act III - Heaven or Hell

Interacting with living humans feels so strange, so empty, like a performance. Of course, even after a half-century of torture, rape, and “training” with Alistair, relating to Sam and Bobby is like riding a bicycle. For them, he has only been gone for a few months, and they treat him with such care and tenderness that it's nearly overwhelming. Even staring down the barrel of a gun in his brother's hand or having Bobby hang up with the shouted threat of sending the nearest hunter to kill whatever he was were like warm glasses of milk before bed. That is, compared to Alistair's brand of "love" through unending anguish and despair. But for Dean, making nice with humans still feels closer to holding a whip in his hands than connecting with long lost family. He will have to get used to the concept of "kindness" as a virtue, instead of a way to offer hope only to strip it away while flaying condemned souls to the core in the heat and stink of the pit. He looks forward to feeling human love for others within himself again. He sighs, partly out of wistful remembrance and partly out of frustration. What does this interloper into his newfound freedom on Earth have to say for himself?

They had appeared in the middle of what Dean assumes is the Sahara desert, as they are surrounded on all sides by sand dunes with wisps of sand blowing from their subtle peaks. The sun on his face has been denied him so long that he can’t help but bask for a moment. Before he can properly enjoy his surroundings, he hears the man behind him clear his throat.

“Dean Winchester.”

“Yeah, you got ‘im.” He continues sunning himself while waiting for a reply. If the man can transport them halfway across the world and knows his name, maybe he has some information about Dean’s predicament. Instead, he is greeted by a long silence, which quickly grows intolerable. Dean finally turns to face his unidentified companion, only to find him crouched on the ground with his head in his hands muttering to himself. Perplexed, Dean takes a few steps toward him, “Uh, guy? You alright over there.” He hears a muffled “no I am not” filter through the air between them followed by more muttering. “Huh? I can’t hear what you’re saying.”

The man stops muttering and stands, “No, I am not ‘alright’ or any other descriptor for a neutral state of being in which one can be presumed relaxed or content.”

“Okay, okay. Yeesh. You’re the one who brought me out into a giant sandbox to huddle on the ground and talk to yourself. What’s your problem?”

“My ‘problem’ is that I was too late, or not late enough. Either earlier or later would have been better. In fact, any temporal instance other than the exact moment that I chose to raise you from perdition would have been more suitable.”

“Oh, so it was you that plopped me in a pine box after all that time underground. How’d you do it? Ruby seemed pretty confused about how I got my own body back. And how I can’t be exorcised out of it. And she totally flipped out when she saw my eyes.” Dean flicks his eyes so his unidentified companion can see their color. “What kind of demon am I, some sort of incubus lord? Because that sounds awesome!” Dean licks his lips thinking about all the tail he’s missing out on right now. Windows into several different brothels and strip clubs appear in his mind, but he waves them away. Later. Right now he needs answers.

Seeing Dean’s eyes causes the man to grip the sides of his head and wince. He turns and walks several steps away before howling senselessly into the sky.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about! What’s so wrong with my eyes? Sam could look at them just fine—Oof!” Dean is interrupted by an impact that knocks the wind out of him and looks down to find a shiny silver rod protruding from the center of his chest. He stumbles and falls backward into a sitting position in the sand. “Ow! OKAY, THAT IS IT!! No more showing my eyes to supernatural assholes because in 100% of cases I have gotten STABBED for no good reason!” Dean pulls the Terminator-esque weapon out of his solar plexus and tosses it on the ground.

The man grips the sides of his head again and lets out an ear splitting wail that doesn’t seem as though it could be created by a human’s vocal cords.

“Alright, pal, enough is enough. Who are you? What are you? Tell me before I stab you with your own giant needle from space!”

As Dean barks the order the man rapidly spouts information, as though it were being pulled from his throat, “I am Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord.” He covers his mouth with his hand and gives Dean a pleading stare, “Please, no more! Don’t force me to say any more! I am already beyond compromised in the eyes of my Father.” He grips the sides of his head again and crumples to the fetal position on the ground. “What am I saying? It matters not! I am lost! I am fallen! My time as a servant of Heaven is at an end!” Another piercing otherworldly sound emanates from the pitiful creature.

Dean scratches his head. “Alright, so, Castiel, angel of the Lord. You’re making it sound like we are all royally fucked here. Can you stop wallowing in the sand for a second and humor me? What exactly _am_ I?” 

Castiel tightens into a ball, “You…are absolute.”

With that, Dean is alone in the middle of the desert. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

~*~

“Sam, we gotta talk to Bobby again. Something seriously messed up is going on and I think I’m the eye of the storm.”

“YAH, DEAN, oh fuck!” Tires squeal as Sam tries to regain his composure, “Please don’t just pop in unannounced like that. I almost ran us off the road!”

“Yeah, about that. Next time you have to stop, we’re switching.” Dean motions between them. “Anyway, that guy that showed up and spirited me away turned out to be an angel, and he was just as freaked as Ruby by my eyes! A goddamn _angel_! We gotta figure this thing out ASAP, before anyone else stabs me!”

Sam’s phone rings and interrupts Dean’s frenzied diatribe. He holds up a finger signaling Dean to wait a minute and answers, but puts it on speaker for Dean’s benefit.

“Yeah, Ruby, hi.”

“Good time to talk?”

“Uh,” he looks over at Dean, “…sure, whatcha got?”

“Okay, so, there was this story that demons told to one another. I always thought it was more as a sick joke or escapist fantasy than anything else, but I guess it’s true. It went that if you could convince an angel, like a real angel, not fallen like Lucifer, to redeem your soul, you’d become this amazing all-powerful being with a hurricane of blood raging in your eyes who could basically do whatever you wanted for the rest of eternity. Thing is, none of us had ever seen an angel other than Lucifer. They stuck to Heaven and we stuck to Hell and sometimes Earth, when we’re lucky enough, that is. And it’s not like a demon can just talk to an angel, either. Angels are supposed to be able to basically kill all but the most powerful demons with a touch or even just a thought, and they are rumored to have these swords that can kill anything except Death himself. Even worse, they aren’t known for their free thinking. They’re basically robots operating on God’s orders without a will of their own. So yeah, to say that you could convince an angel to raise you from Hell was always a pretty ridiculous notion. But…having said that, I think maybe your brother is one of these things. I think somebody upstairs either made the biggest mistake of all time or is some kind of twisted nihilist. Either way, your brother is basically the Apocalypse now.”

Sam looks over at Dean. Dean shrugs, “Well, you got it right with the first guess. Some angel named Castiel just told me he’s up shit creek without a paddle because he tugged me out of the pit a couple minutes too late. And if his shitty Terminator stick was one of the swords you're talking about, add my name to the list of unkillables.” Dean pokes at the ripped fabric of his T-shirt.

“Ah, Dean, um, lord, sir, uh, master. I didn’t realize you were there with Sam. Please, forgive me for, uh, stabbing you earlier. It was a bad joke! Haha, silly me! I was _nearly_ positive you wouldn't die. Anyway, uh, I gotta go.” The line disconnects.

Sam looks warily over at Dean, “Bobby?”

Dean nods, “Bobby.”


	4. Act IV - Savior

Castiel rockets forward, dodging buildings and trees and rock faces as they appear with his pursuers mere moments behind him. He cannot keep up this speed, nor can he stop, and while his prowess as a blade combatant has won him respect and renown among his brothers, he is one, and they are many, and all commanded by the archangels to bring about his destruction. He is lost. He is fallen. All hope for salvation is lost, both for himself, and for all of creation.

As he despairs over the situation, he can feel his brothers’ grace closing in all around him. Panic rises in his mind. This is the end. This is his end. Just as he is about to give himself over to the wrath of Heaven for his blasphemous actions, a reckless thought shouts from a desperate place in his guilt-ridden mind, “There is _one_ hope!”

What is it to further blaspheme when one has already committed the most heinous of blasphemy? He abruptly changes course and prays that he will reach his new destination in time.

~*~

Dean and Sam spend the rest of the ride to Bobby's catching up. The brother Dean was before booking an all-expense-paid ticket straight to Hell would have been pissed at Sam for cavorting around with a demon, but considering the circumstances, he feels like a hypocrite saying so and instead just asks benign questions, like what she looks like naked and if flicking her eyes during sex is a turn on. Sam asks similarly benign questions, like if Dean has to breath or how heavy of an object he thinks he can lift with his mind. Still, Dean can tell Sam is holding something back, and he himself carefully avoids talking about the terrors he had both experienced and committed under Alistair's tutelage. He may not be free of the memories, but he is free from Alistair and free to make new, more pleasant memories with Sam and Bobby and even Ruby. Freedom. Dean savors the depth of the concept for a moment until another abrupt visit from Castiel, angel of the Lord, breaks the companionable silence of the car ride.

“Dean Winchester!”

“HOLY CRAP!” Sam swerves across the center line and back again. “Really?! Don’t people who teleport know how to knock!?”

Ignoring Sam’s outburst, Castiel continues, “Please, Dean Winchester! You must protect me! I throw myself upon your mercy!”

Dean crosses his arms. “Says the guy who kidnapped me, stabbed me, and then fucked off to who the fuck knows for half a day! Why should I?”

“Please, we have so little time! I can explain everything if you will simply call off my pursuers!”

“What? How? I didn’t send anyone to find you, man. Why would these ‘pursuers’ listen to me?”

The air inside the car begins to crackle and fizzle with energy. The subtle twilight hinting at nightfall slowly builds to nearly broad daylight. “Hurry! Tell them to end their pursuit! THERE IS NO MORE TIME FOR EXPLANATION! NOW!!”

“Okay, alright, jeez! Uh, okay, whoever is coming after this whiny asshole in the backseat, you’re gonna stop it, right this second.” Dean looks back at a frantic Castiel and shrugs, “Happy?”

As soon as the words are out of Dean’s mouth, the electric tension in the air dissipates, the sky returns to normal, and Castiel’s eyes grow wide with awe.

Dean waves his hand in front of Castiel’s face. “Alright, Cas. Can I call you Cas? I’m gonna call you Cas. I’d say you’ve got some ‘splaining to do. Who was following you?”

Without looking directly at Dean, Cas answers, “My brothers.”

“What, you mean like more angels?”

“Yes.”

“And why, exactly, were they chasing you?” 

“Because I have blasphemed against the very foundations of existence in creating you.”

Dean makes a haughty, mock-offended face, “Well, _excuse_ me for existing!”

Sam cuts in, “So, what _is_ he?”

Cas shuts his eyes, “‘If a manifestation of the divine gifts a fallen with return to the world of men, so shall he doom all of creation, for Heaven’s irreversible will shall be reversed and the divine shall be powerless against the fallen’s return.’ He is absolute. He is a supreme being. What I cannot reconcile, however, is that he has shown mercy.” Cas opens his eyes and looks over at Dean, “Evidently, what I have wrought is not fully known to me.”

Dean looks back at Cas, “So are you saying that I can make angels do whatever I want?”

A pained expression passes over Cas’s face, “Yes. Most assuredly.”

“And that’s why your bros took a lunch break just because I asked them to?”

Cas’s gaze returns to the road ahead of them, “Yes.”

“And my helping you out is confusing because I should be a supreme evil dickbag?”

Cas’s eyes narrow as he processes the statement, “Although I am unsure of the meaning of the word ‘dickbag,’ yes, I believe what you have said is true. All of your behavior is confusing. In fact, I expected our first encounter to end in my death.”

Sam nods in agreement from the driver's seat, "Yeah, for being some sort of demon, you do seem weirdly like yourself, maybe even more easygoing. I mean, Ruby _did_ stab you and you were more worried about what color your eyes were."

"Hey, nothing like spending forty or fifty years roasting in the pit for you to redefine stuff like 'bad situation' and 'pick your battles,' I guess." Dean flashes a broad smile, "I'm a kinder, gentler ultimate murder lord!" He looks over at Sam to find him shaking his head and smiling back. Even Cas seems to be in on the joke and the corners of his mouth curl almost imperceptibly into the most subtle smirk that Dean has ever seen. "Did you see that, this stoic mother fucker just had to hold in a laugh!" Dean playfully pats Cas's cheek before putting his hands behind his head and leaning back against his seat. “Man, we’ve sure got a shit ton to explain to Bobby when we get there.”


	5. Act V - Tenderness

Dean hovers majestically into the room about five feet off the ground, miming the backstroke through the air with a bottle of beer sitting precariously on his stomach. “Yo, guys, check this out!” He proceeds to lift a swallow of beer out of the bottle, form it into a small sphere, and then float it into his mouth.

Sam claps halfheartedly, “That was great…the first _thirty_ times you showed us. You know, Bobby and I are pouring over the books to figure this out for you. You could at least _pretend_ to be helping.”

Dean stops in midair, grabs the beer from its resting place, and lands on his feet next to the table where Sam and Bobby are sitting. He taps the lip of the bottle against the side of his head, “Well, maybe you’re looking in the wrong place.” He points the bottle at the books spread out between them on the table, “Maybe it isn’t in any heavenly-type books. I mean, it was Ruby who originally told us the story.” Dean notices Sam mouthing no and putting his finger to his lips.

Bobby quirks an eyebrow. “What, Ruby, as in that demon from a couple months ago?”

Whoops. Sam had told him not to mention Ruby in front of Bobby and he’d forgotten. Dean looks between Bobby and Sam, “Uh, no?”

Sam rolls his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You mean to tell me she’s been hanging around since then?”

“Well I didn’t necessarily _mean_ to, but—” 

“Can it! And since you been underground, I’m gonna guess that she’s Sam’s gal pal? Is the angel in on this, too? Don’t tell me you told that doofus but not me when you just met him yesterday! So one of you is buddy-buddy with a demon and one of you _is_ a demon and you brought all that and an angel on the lamb into _my_ house?! What’ve you two got to say for yourselves?!”

Cas’s head pokes through the ceiling, “Excuse my intrusion into your familial quarrel, but I need to inspect Dean Winchester.”

“Sorry, looks like I’m needed in Columbo’s office.” Dean gives a mock-helpless shrug.

Sam gives him the stink eye and Dean thumbs his nose in Sam’s general direction as he floats up into the ceiling after Cas. A muffled “Cas, check this out!” can be heard through the ceiling as Dean's feet disappear from view.

~*~

Dean hears Bobby bellow from downstairs “Get back down here, boy! I wasn’t even close to done with you!” followed by footsteps on the stairs.

Dean looks over at Cas and points up, “Let’s take this show to the roof.” He finishes his beer and doggy paddles up through the ceiling to find Cas waiting for him as he clips through the shingles.

A few seconds later a window opens and Bobby shouts out into the car lot below, “Get back here you couple a’ flying monkeys! Goddamnit! How in blue blazes am I supposed to keep track of a coupla idjits who can probably teleport to the moon for all I know.” An exasperated sigh and the window shuts again.

Dean chuckles and gives Cas a thumbs up, “Did I mention how being some kind of super demon totally fucking rules?”

Cas nods, “Yes, multiple times. In regard to the term ‘demon,’ I am no longer so sure that it truly applies to you. Here, I need to look at the injury I gave you.” Cas less than gently grabs Dean’s arm and pushes his shirt sleeves out of the way before poking and prodding the scabby hand print.

Dean bats Cas’s hand away, “Ow, come on! Look with your eyes, not with your hands!” 

Cas frowns, but reluctantly ceases his tactile inspection.

“So, what’s the diagnosis, doc?” Dean rolls his sleeves back down over his shoulder.

“I cannot reconcile it. No human soul would react to my touch as yours did, so the transformation must have been complete by the time I reached you. And yet…”

“And yet what?” Dean takes a seat on the roof and leans back on his palms, enjoying the sun and fresh air.

Cas takes a seat next to him, “Well, demonic transformation, while a seemingly slow process, is actually quite sudden. The light of a human soul slowly dims over time, but until the precise moment of the transformation, it is completely human. Think of it as a fire that can be fanned and fed back from a single spark, but never reignited from nothing. At the breaking point, the transformation happens all at once, as the last spark goes out. Your soul had that spark when I saved you, and yet you were fully a demon as I knit you back together.” Cas motions to Dean’s shoulder, “That wound is the proof.” 

Dean lifts his sleeves back up and looks at the charred hand print that is only just starting to heal over, “Huh.” 

“So, I cannot reconcile it. Further confounding my initial understanding of the situation, your appearance is changing. As I watched you awaken in your coffin, I was distraught to find that the sooty, skittering tendrils that form a demon's face similarly formed yours, and when I took you into the desert, I witnessed that your eyes reflected the roaring tempest of blood foretold to represent the pure chaos and destruction such a creation would bring upon the world. I was too overcome by guilt and fear to notice at the time, but the spark of your soul that I had originally seen in Hell remained behind your eyes. Had I been more aware, I might have noticed that it was, in fact, growing brighter with time. Now, the blackened fog is lifting from your features and parts of your skin are nearly visible." Cas is suddenly leaning up on his knees inches away from Dean's face and running his fingers along Dean's jawline.

"Whoa," Dean clears his throat and his eyes flick involuntarily, "this is, uh, getting a little intimate." 

Undeterred, Cas continues, "And the light of your soul is growing stronger. It is filtering through the dark red cloudiness of your eyes as the sun on the horizon." He looks out over the car lot and then back at Dean.

Dean sits stunned, unsure of exactly what to do in the situation where an angel is practically sharing breath with you and lovingly stroking your face and comparing your eyes to the sun while you are sitting alone together on a roof. He wants to push Cas away and alert him to the human concept of personal space, but at the same time he hasn't felt a genuinely soft touch in, well, decades. He hadn't even gotten the good ol' Winchester "we're both alive somehow" hug what with everything being such a whirlwind since he'd returned. Just as he is starting to relax into the quasi-awkward facial massage, Cas moves closer and uses his thumbs and index fingers to pull Dean's eyelids farther open.

"It really is the most extraordinary process I have ever--" 

No longer enjoying the encounter, Dean grabs Cas's wrists and pushes them away, "Okay, alright, moment over! You know, it's generally considered good manners to ask someone before you stick your fingers in their eyeballs and feel around!" Miffed, he stands up and dusts himself off, "If you're done 'inspecting,' I think I'm gonna head back inside and see if Sam and Bobby have turned anything up."

Cas nods and a sheepish expression betrays itself from the corners of his eyes for a fraction of a second, "I am finished. I apologize, Dean Winchester."

Dean waves his hand in the air, "It's no big. Don't worry about it. And I told you, call me Dean. You sound like a dork saying my last name all the time. Bobby makes fun of you for it, just so you know." He starts to sink down through the shingles, but stops for a moment, "And, uh, you know, if you need me to be evidence in more of your paranormal detective work, just, uh, I mean," Dean rubs the back of his neck, "you can just ask. I really don't mind." 

Dean sinks the rest of the way back indoors and sighs. The windows of ill repute beckon to him again for a moment, but he scowls and mentally shuts them. Although it had initially sounded awesome with his newfound powers, the idea of strip clubs and prostitutes reminds him too much of the way he put on a show in front of Alistair over and over again for scraps of twisted, hallow praise and torment disguised and repackaged as affection. He rubs his arms reflexively to chase away the chill of the memories. He looks up at the ceiling. Cas is an angel, so nothing is stopping Dean from making him do whatever he wanted. But that's the core of it, isn't it? If he starts forcing everything to go his way just because he can, he'll be no better than his former master. He almost heads downstairs, on foot this time, when a hopeful thought strikes him. Maybe he can just try asking Cas for what he wants. It had worked for him lots of times before he was torn apart by hellhounds, so maybe it will work now, too.

He floats partially back through the roof and rests his forearms on it like he's talking to someone from the side of a swimming pool, "Hey, uh, sorry to bug you again. You look like you're deep in thought over there. Can I ask you a favor?"

Cas hasn't moved much and remains sitting and staring out into the distance, "Yes, Dean Win— Dean, what do you need from me?"

"Uh," Dean suddenly feels silly for wanting to ask and for being nervous to ask at the same time. It's a pretty tame request, after all. "Would you mind, you know, doing what you were doing before some more? Like, just rubbing my face, or whatever?" He pulls himself fully back up onto the roof and sits down next to Cas again. "It felt kinda nice, except for the part where you nearly blinded me, anyway."

Without a moment's hesitation, Cas returns his hands to Dean's face. Other than Dean humming in appreciation every so often, they sit in silence, until Cas gently murmurs something to himself.

Dean opens his eyes and shoots Cas a questioning glance, "What?"

Cas looks mildly embarrassed, "I was just thinking about the hairs on your face. Of course, I know that I have no ownership over them, but I did return each to its place as I reconstructed you from your rotting carcass. I think I arranged them in an aesthetically pleasing manner, especially the eyelashes." He starts to move his fingers toward Dean's eyes, but stops himself, "Excuse me. May I touch your eyelids? I will endeavor not to nearly blind you again."

Dean closes his eyes and gives a slight nod, then finds himself sighing into the feather light touches of Cas's thumbs smoothing his eyelashes down against his cheeks. Every sensation feels like the most tender, wonderful, comforting experience he has ever had, like he's lived his entire life in a never-ending drought and is suddenly standing underneath a waterfall. He melts into the touch as Cas's fingers move into the hair at the base of his skull. Yes, just this for the rest of eternity, that's all he would need.

"I have never been allowed to do anything like this before, and certainly not by a being who could kill me just by wishing it to be so. I must admit, however, that I am not currently gleaning any more information from my exploration of your skin and hair. I might be able to understand more if you showed me your eyes again."

Dean hums an acknowledgement and lifts his head slightly from lolling against Cas's palms. He lets his eyes flutter open and flick to their deep burgundy only to be met with Cas's completely unguarded interest. Cas's mouth is slightly open and his eyes are hooded as he looks deeply into Dean's eyes, and it's too much. Dean can't handle the deluge of closeness without reacting anymore. He grabs for Cas's neck and pulls him into a kiss. Cas stiffens and tightens his grip painfully in Dean's hair, snapping Dean out of his pleasure-induced trance. He pulls away from the embrace and apologizes, "Sorry, I just, your fingers felt so good in my hair and you looked like you were ready for a make-out session and I just, yeah, my bad for reading that wrong."

Cas blinks a few times and brings his fingers to his lips before returning his gaze to Dean.

Unable to read Cas's expression, Dean continues apologizing, "Look, I'm really sorry. I should have asked you before just kissing you out of nowhere." He starts to get up, "Thanks for—"

Cas abruptly disappears, leaving Dean alone on the roof feeling like a complete ass. Dean rubs the back of his neck, "Well, shit."


	6. Act VI - Transcendence

Dean thumps dejectedly down the stairs with his hands in his pockets.

Sam and Bobby both look up at him from their reading, but Dean keeps his eyes on the ground. 

Bobby scoffs, "So what, walking's back in your good graces now? Thought you'd've levitated your 'Casper the Friendly Ghost' act into the kitchen and grabbed a beer _through_ the refrigerator door a couple more times by now."

Sam looks too peeved to say anything for a moment, but then looks around and furrows his brow, "Where's Cas?

Dean shrugs and rubs the back of his neck, “I dunno, I kissed him and he ran off."

Bobby and Sam look at each other and then back and Dean in wide-eyed surprise, "You _what_?"

Oh right, Dean had forgotten that dudes kissing other dudes was a thing. "I've spent longer downstairs than up here at this point, remember? And nobody cares about what your dirty bits look like when they...well, let's just say there is way worse stuff than someone calling you gay in Hell." A chill runs down Dean's spine and he grimaces. He does not want to think, much less talk, about this. “Anyway, what did you guys find out about me? What else can I do? What is my ultimate super move?”

Bobby looks like he's going to ask another question, but then starts in on his research notes instead, “Nothing is all that specific about any of it, just lots of mentions of you being chaos and destruction incarnate blah dee blah. I think the idea is that you can kill angels, and demons aren’t gonna try'n stop ya because you’ll be doing the kind of evil dealings they like anyway. There are a couple different mentions of controlling angels, telekinesis, and even something that says you can change the weather," Bobby looks up and Dean nods approvingly at the idea of literally making it rain. Bobby continues, "No word on if you can kill or control other demons with your mind. I think you're just assumed to be stronger than them so you can beat the tar out of 'em all ya want. You can't possess humans, either, but there's no need to because you already have a human body as part of the whole deal. That's all we got.”

Dean considers for a moment and then remembers what Cas said about his face, "Oh, so get this: apparently I'm turning back into a human. At least that's what Cas said on the roof."

"What, like losing your powers?" Sam asks.

"Nope, I don't think so. Just losing the gross demon face and the murky demon eyes. What do you think?" Dean flicks his eyes.

Sam leans over the table, "Huh, yeah, you can kind of see the outline of your irises below the red cloudiness now. Weird. Definitely nothing in the books about that, though." Sufficiently intrigued by the new developments, Sam seems to forget some of his grouchiness about Dean blabbing the Ruby secret, because he rounds the table and wraps Dean in a bear hug, "Whatever you are, it's really good to have you back, man."

Dean squeezes his arms tightly around his long lost brother until he feels Sam trying to wriggle out of his grip. In a strained voice, Sam pleads, "Dude, you're crushing my spine."

"Oh, sorry." Dean lets go. He'll have to remember to recalibrate the force he uses when hugging humans.

Sam rubs his lower back and chuckles. Then his eyes light up, "I almost forgot! Here," Sam removes the necklace he gave Dean when they were kids from his neck, "I was keeping it warm for you."

Dean smiles and puts the necklace on. He feels like his old self for a fleeting moment. Just like everything else kind and good in the world, this gesture seems like too much. Tears sting his eyes and he wraps his arms around Sam again, "Thank you. Thank you so much. How can I thank you for this?"

Sam grunts in pain and coughs out, "You can...let me go...please."

Right, be gentle with humans. He lets go again.

Sam gasps in a breath and then points outside, "I'm gonna get some air." He limps out of the room rubbing his back.

~*~

Once Sam is outside, he slips his phone out of his pocket and finds that the earlier vibration he'd felt was indeed the text from Ruby he'd been waiting for. Dean's reappearance had been the perfect cover for his taking a break to meet up with her. The words "Come find me out back" flash up at him as he opens the message. He licks his lips and makes for the treeline.

Sam stops a short distance into the woods surrounding Bobby's house and Ruby slips out from behind a nearby tree, "Hey there, stud. What's a guy like you doing in a shithole like this?"

"Come on, Ruby, don't toy with me. We don't have a lot of time," Sam motions back where he came from, "and you know I need it!" Sam reaches for her arm and slips a hunting knife out of it's sheath.

"Oh, you're no fun when you're like this. Fine, we'll do it your way, but next time I get to have a little fun." She runs a finger sensually down his chest as Sam cuts into the flesh of her arm and brings the wound to his mouth to drink.

After a few minutes, Sam's thirst for demon blood is quenched and he lets go of her arm, "Thanks, and next time answer your phone sooner. I missed you." He kisses her gently on the cheek and turns to head back inside.

Ruby catches his arm, "Where do you think you're going? I didn't come here for you to drink your fill and then merrily skip off back to hunterland. I came here to get you away from here! Sam, Dean is dangerous. You can't trust him. He's acting like everything is peaches and cream and he's not an unstoppable murder machine bent on world domination, but trust me, it's an act. He's hiding something big from you, you know, something that happened during his stint downstairs. You have to be completely stupid not to realize that. You saw his eyes!"

"What? Come on, Ruby. Dean isn't like that. He's a terrible liar. And you should have seen him in there. He was practically crying because I had saved his necklace as a keepsake and gave it back to him. Plus, today the angel told him—"

"Now you're palling around with an angel, too!? In that case, there is absolutely no way that I am coming back here ever, ever again," Ruby pauses and looks toward Bobby's house before meeting Sam's eyes again. She lowers her voice slightly to a biting whisper, "Look, Sam, I didn't want to have to tell you, but Dean is the one who _broke the first seal_!"

Sam's eyes widen and his lips part, "No. You're lying. He couldn't— He was only down there for four months!"

"Wrong, Sam. Time is different in Hell. Four months down there is more like...40 years, maybe longer. So, obviously something serious happened to him down there and all you have to go on is his word that he isn't planning to destroy this whole fucked up planet! When I said he's the Apocalypse now I wasn't saying it metaphorically. As far as I can tell, _he's_ the one working with Lilith to break Lucifer out! Now, I'm not saying you have to kill your own brother, but—"

Still overcome with the need for Ruby to be wrong, Sam yanks his arm away from her and takes a step back, "What? No! That's impossible! It can't be Dean! He wouldn't—"

"Wouldn't he? He's an all-powerful demon, Sam! Pretty sure he shed a fair amount of blood in Hell to get there."

"But the angel said—"

"Fuck that goddamn angel! He's probably in on Lilith's plan, and now that Dean is above ground, we have got to move up our timescale. Don't let Dean's meatsuit blind you, Sam! We are all royally fucked unless you kill Lilith, and fast!"

"But—"

"No more discussion," Ruby shoves a hex bag into Sam's pocket and grabs him by the upper arm, "We're leaving!"

~*~

"I dunno, Bobby, it's really not that different. I mean, I guess if a guy hasn't shaved it can be kind of prickly and if he's got a beard or a mustache it can tickle a little, but other than that, kissing is kissing. Anyway, why do you wanna know?" Dean takes a swig of his beer.

As Bobby opens his mouth to answer, a gust of wind ruffles the room and Cas appears in the far corner from where Dean and Bobby sit chatting. He makes brief eye contact with Dean before looking pointedly away. Dean scratches at the back of his neck and lets his eyes wander around the room. After a beat of awkward silence, Bobby clears his throat.

Dean forces a cough and takes a clumsy stab at breaking the tension, "Look, Cas, I didn't mean—"

Cas shakes his head and holds up a hand, "It is not of consequence." He shifts his gaze to focus on Bobby, "I came to...apologize for my brief absence, and for my preoccupation with Dean's demonic transformation. There are more pressing matters at hand, namely the looming Apocalypse."

Dean feels his shoulders tense, "What, you mean like _the_ Apocalypse? Like Hell on Earth and all that?"

Bobby looks down at the books on his desk and back up, "So it's true... I didn't want to believe it, but some of this stuff, what's been going on recently, it's coming straight out of Revelations."

"Indeed, the 'stuff' to which you refer is a direct consequence of the actions of a demon called Lilith. During Dean's time in Hell, she mobilized an army to accomplish the blasphemous task of freeing Lucifer from his cage. To do so, she and her army must break each of 66 seals to weaken the door sufficiently for Lucifer to escape."

Bobby shifts in his chair to face Cas more directly, "Wait, just weaken the door? So then how many seals are there? And how are we s'posed to stop her when we're a couple of humans, a whatever-the-hell-Dean-is, and an angel in a cheap suit? I mean, we can't be in 50 places at once."

Cas looks down at his suit briefly before continuing, "Your questions have preempted my explanation. Because there are over 600 seals holding Lucifer in Hell, there is no way to predict to which 66 of them Lilith will choose to lay siege. And considering that almost the entire Heavenly host is already trying to address the problem, I have little faith that our assistance would make much difference."

"So, then, why come back here?"

The pensive creases in Cas' brow at the question make Dean regret asking it in the first place, and Bobby's knowing snort certainly doesn't help with the feeling that he is acting like a whiny teenage girl after a disappointing prom night. Cas reluctantly turns to face him and continues, "Because there is another matter of grave importance which you and Bobby are uniquely positioned to address. Your brother Sam has been under surveillance for some time now for his involvement in demonic activity and potential relationship with Lilith's overarching plan. We know what Azazel did to him, but have yet to ascertain why. Our intelligence indicates it may be something of a 'final step,' with Sam being molded into the last key needed to unlock the last seal. At the moment, I am unable to locate Sam. That is, his location is clouded to me, and I anticipate my brothers similarly can no longer track him. He is an unknown and extremely dangerous piece to all of this—"

"Wait," Bobby rises from his chair, "where _is_ Sam?" He and Dean look around for a moment before Dean bolts outside and calls into the trees for his brother.

When, after a frenzy of teleportation and yelling his brother's name, it is clear that Sam is no longer anywhere on or around Bobby's lot, Dean returns to the room in defeat and pulls out his cell phone to try calling him. Sam's answering machine catches the call, and Dean hangs up in time to hear Bobby ask Cas a few more pointed questions, "So Sam's dangerous how? And what, exactly, did Azazel do to him?"

Cas audibly swallows and the tiniest hint of remorse tugs at his brow, "Azazel bled into Sam's mouth when he was an infant, which gave him the potential to gain power over demons. We were helpless to stop it; Azazel kept his activities hidden from us until it was much too late to intervene. And Sam is dangerous because he has been honing that power by drinking the blood of a demon called Ruby and practicing—"

"WHAT?!" Dean and Bobby both shout out over one another.

"Yes, but at my rank I am not privy to much, especially now that I can no longer ask my brothers directly, nor hear their voices when they send out our father's orders, so I cannot—"

Dean shakes his head in disbelief and attempts to blink away the horror of what Cas had just shared. _No. Not this. Anything but this. I can be some kind of horrible monster, but not him, not Sammy._ "Cas, we gotta find him! And you're saying you can't— Wait, if you're getting the silent treatment from Heaven, can't I, you know, use my mojo to— Actually, I could just ask them directly, right? Just have to say something like, 'all you angelic douchebags out there, let me hear it,' and I'll—"

"No, Dean, wait!"

Cas' plea comes too late as Dean's knees hit the floor and his hands fly to the sides of his head. The deluge of Enochian cross-talk overwhelms his senses while answering absolutely no questions, so he shouts, "In English, please!"

_—yet another seal in Egypt. Three additional garrisons—_

_How could Castiel have failed to see that the righteous man had already—_

_—the breaking of the first seal to be allowed was disaster enough, but—_

_Twenty-six seals in total—_

_—same righteous blood as his unbreakable father, but broke so easily. Our carelessness will—_

_—without Dean Winchester. Our only hope has become our undoing!_

_—no discernible pattern. We are losing key battles in—_

_—reports two more spell-based seals broken. Send a battalion—_

_To be clear, Alistair broke the first seal using Dean Winchester. While the righteous man is partially to blame—_

_—to raise the absolute doom of Heaven and Earth, Castiel, I do not understand!_

_—38 minutes since Sam Winchester's location was last—_

_—was the keystone. No seals could ever be broken without the righteous man's first slice into—_

_North American units, adjust patrols to focus on inexpensive lodging—_

_—is lost! The righteous man is Lilith's will embodied!_

_—sent back to Hell without a clear source of exorcism 25 minutes after Sam Winchester's disappearance. Any soldiers in New Jersey—_

_Dean Winchester and Castiel have doomed us all!_

"STOP!" Dean's hands slap the floorboards below him and tears roll down his cheeks, "Stop it! I can't— I didn't—" He locks eyes with Cas, "Cas, did I really— I started all this?"

Cas closes his eyes and nods.

Bobby crosses to Dean and rests a hand on his shoulder, "You okay there, boy?"

 _I set the bomb and Sam detonates it. We _are_ the Apocalypse._ Dean shakes his head slowly, "No, I— I'm gonna need a minute." He gestures toward the roof and disappears.

~*~

"Dean."

Dean hums in acknowledgement from his perch on the edge of the roof, but continues to stare out across the junkyard. Even from behind him, Castiel can see the brilliant light of Dean's soul shining ever more brightly and cutting through the dinge of his remaining demonic features. He knows he should be endeavoring to mobilize Dean in the search for his brother, but as Dean lets out a deep sigh and lowers his back to lie prone on the roof, Castiel's resolve wavers. They are both in so far over their heads and have so little information with which to proceed. He crosses to Dean's position and lies down next to him.

Dean closes his eyes and sighs again, "Just trying to relax. That was a lot of shit you and your pals just dumped on us. Don't tell me there's something else now."

"No, nothing further."

"Then why did you come up here after me?"

Castiel is caught off-guard by the question. Although he should be focused on the task at hand, truly Castiel is not altogether sure exactly why he has ascended to the roof of Bobby's home and lain down next to Dean. Perhaps he had wanted to know what Dean heard of his brothers' celestial communications, but he can certainly guess at the majority of it. Before his connection was severed, there was an almost constant drone blaming the Winchesters and himself for the Apocalypse, and Sam's sudden disappearance certainly will not have improved the general consensus of imminent calamity. Perhaps he also needs some relaxation. He mimics Dean's deep sigh and finds that it is indeed fractionally calming. He sighs again for good measure.

Dean shifts next to him, "Your brothers, they said that...other than being doom and gloom and all that, that I— Before I transformed, was I supposed to stop Lilith...and Sam?

At a much easier question to answer than the first, Castiel tilts his head slightly so that his gaze falls on Dean's ear, "Yes. It is foretold that the righteous man who begins it is the only one who can finish it." He notices again how Dean's soul shines brilliantly through the last whispers of skittering soot on his cheeks and jaw, "Without the knowledge of the nigh unimaginable preservation of your soul, I am sure that my brothers believe all hope to be lost. You probably heard as much from them."

Dean tilts his head to meet Castiel's gaze and nods, "The ones I could make out from all the chatter said I was 'Lilith's will embodied' and 'the absolute doom of Heaven and Earth,' so yeah, I'd say 'hopeless' pretty much sums it up."

"I think—" Castiel falters. While he would not usually presume to know his Father's will, these were highly unusual circumstances. He clears his throat and continues, "I want to believe that you were meant to become a demon and that I was meant to raise you after you turned. I think my Father knew that your righteous blood would protect your soul from annihilation while allowing me to bestow upon you the incredible power you now enjoy, and I think He meant you to use that power to keep Lucifer from rising. And I came up here after you because I," suddenly self-conscious, Castiel turns his gaze back to the sky above them, "I can see the righteous man in you. And I— I still believe in Dean Winchester."

Dean scoffs next to him, "Well, good. That makes one of us, then. 'Cause I don't think it's that far off the reservation for us to just kiss our sweet asses goodbye at this point. I mean, fuck, Cas, where do I even start?"

At that utterance, Dean's earlier kiss flits into Castiel's consciousness. In all the centuries of his existence, he has so rarely taken a vessel and he has certainly never been kissed. The idea that an all-powerful creature capable of controlling his every thought and deed like Dean had wanted to kiss him and yet not forced him to do so was nearly unfathomable. Such a mundane happening became remarkable in the context. Castiel sighs softly as the memory swirls behind his eyes. What about a simple inspection of Dean's facial features had been so captivating? He startles at the idea of asking Dean directly, but the light of a human soul shining next to him reminds him that he might not have make a mistake and, perhaps, he had not doomed all of creation to eternal torment. The thought emboldens him and he takes another deep breath, "Perhaps I...also came to you because I want to understand," he tilts his head back toward Dean, "Could you touch my face and hair?"

"What?" Dean rolls over onto his side to prop himself up on one elbow and raises an eyebrow.

Castiel mirrors Dean's positioning, "Please, I want to understand your reaction to the experience."

"Wha— I— Um, okay," Dean scoots closer and his fingers hover tentatively over Castiel's cheek before lightly stroking down along his jaw and gliding back into the hair at the base of his neck, "This okay?"

Castiel wordlessly nods and lets his eyes slide closed. The sensations on his skin feel so completely foreign as Dean repeats the motion, carding his fingers through Castiel's hair and then running them back along the contours of his neck and face. Although Dean is not touching anything below his Adam's apple, the skin of his shoulders and arms tingles and heats with each passing moment. As the tickling sensitivity builds, an involuntary shiver runs down his spine and he gasps in surprise.

A muted groan from Dean and his fingers move to trace Castiel's newly parted lips, "Fuck if this isn't the tamest shit I've ever done with anyone, but I'm— God, Cas, it's like no one's ever touched you before."

Castiel's head swims. Indeed, beyond a few purposeful placements of his palm to lift or heal a human charge, he has never taken in any sensory information from the affectionate touch of another being. Spending the overwhelming majority of one's existence as a loose collection of energy makes inhabiting a sensile mass of nerve endings a mildly overwhelming experience in the first place, and now to have this supernatural creature he has raised from perdition with the power to utterly obliterate him soothing a thumb along his bottom lip and ghosting breath against his cheek? Another shiver pulls a moan from his throat, and the slight repositioning of his lips causes Dean's thumb to slip into his mouth. On impulse, Castiel wraps his lips around Dean's fingertip and lets his tongue dart to taste it.

"God, fuck, Cas!" Dean growls and a shove sends Castiel onto his back against the shingles.

Castiel's whole body feels warm and reactive, and his breath is coming in affected pants. He opens his eyes to find Dean on his hands and knees above him with fierce, piercing eyes and heavy breathing to match his own. And he understands. He reaches up and wraps a hand around the back of Dean's neck to pull him down into a kiss. As their lips meet, Dean's body comes flush against Castiel's own, and the deluge of sensation makes his back arch and forces another gasp from his throat. Using the opening, Dean wraps a hand back around the curve of Castiel's neck and up to fist in his hair before plunging his tongue into Castiel's mouth. Swept along by Dean's tidal wave of passion, Castiel pulls Dean even more tightly against his body and rides every jolt of pleasure as his body responds to Dean's attentions. Suddenly, Dean's hips begin to undulate against his own and he can't help but break the kiss as he cries out and his back arches away from the shingles again. Dean groans his name and leans up to reach between them when a window slaps open nearby.

"Hey! You idjits planning on wrapping up Dean's pity party any time soon?! Sam's AWOL and fraternizing with the enemy, remember? And I think I might have something, so get back down here!" The window shuts again only to be snapped back open, "And if you're gonna do _that_ , get the hell off my goddamn roof, would ya?!"

As the window slams closed again, the interruption leaves them both staring at one another and panting noisily. Castiel feels frozen in place, unsure of what to say or do in a situation like this. Equally unmoving, Dean is braced above him on one hand with the other against Castiel's belt buckle. After a few more moments, Dean sits back against Castiel's thighs and wraps an arm across his chest to rub at his shoulder, "Whoa, that was...intense."

Castiel blinks up at him. Intense. Yes. That is a word that could be used to describe what had just occurred. Intense. Incredible. Transcendent. Beyond imagination. Unrestrained gratitude swells in his chest, but he has no idea what to say, "I...," he blinks again, "Thank you. For touching my face."

Dean's expression is completely unreadable for a moment before he bursts into laughter and claps a hand to his forehead, "Holy shit, I— Sure, no prob! I mean, you're a fucking _angel_ and we— Thank _you_ , man! Fucking domo arigato, Mr. Roboto." Dean continues laughing softly to himself and grinning down at Castiel for a few moments before shifting to get off of Castiel's lap, "I guess Bobby's right, though. We should probably try and stay on task here."

As Dean leans down and rolls back onto the roof with a grunt, a glint of gold in the middle of Dean's chest catches Castiel's attention, "Dean, what do you have hanging around your neck?"

Without sitting up, Dean feels around ineffectually at the space between his pectorals for the amulet until his fingers run across it, "What, you mean this?" Dean holds up the golden object for Castiel to see, "Sam gave it to me for Christmas when we were kids. It was originally from Bobby, so kind of a family heirloom, I guess. Here, check it out if you want." Dean sweeps the necklace off over his head and drops it into Castiel's hand.

The amulet in his hand whispers to him in Enochian, and with that Castiel has an unbelievably foolish and reprobate idea, but an idea nonetheless, for how to proceed in the struggle to stop the Apocalypse, "Dean, we have to find God."


End file.
